Prick Thee To Thy Bone
by ChocolateCarnival
Summary: Borne unto this world in sins and darkness, two lost souls shall once again come together as a whole. Alas, time has not been kind. Nor has fate. Following in the footsteps of one another without knowing, it was on this day October 31st, 1991, that they once more crossed paths in full awareness. Slowly, one awakes from slumber and the other shall learn he is not lost..
1. To you, Polaris

Rewrite and reprint of my story Prick Thee To Thy Bone, I've decided to dive back into this masterpiece that I started in 2017 and never got the chance to explore much.

It is an eldritch monster, my darlings, so please heed the warnings below!

**Pairing:** Lord Voldemort x Harry Potter x Tom Marvolo Riddle [Diadem!Horcrux]

This is a threesome pairing, though it'll be a slow building fic from Harry's first year. I'm writing him with his own twisted psyche and upbringing. This won't be a story focused only revenge, however. It'll be focused on many different elements. I'm more of an author that focuses on the psychological aspect of my characters than the dialog. I also adore playing with twisted minds and stunted emotional growth.

Anyways, please note the warnings: M/M/M Slash pairing, Lemon Content in the future, Violence, Sadism [not sure if it'll be pared with Masochism either], Extremely Possessive!Marvolo, Overprotective! Voldemort & Horcrux Both, Elements of High Fuctioning Autism (Asperger's in Harry), Slytherin!Harry, Horcrux Materialization, Elements of Shota (though, any true sexual situations will only be after Harry is at least 15 – 16 [I think] ), Eldritch horror elements, Gore, Traditional Pureblood ideals and Psychological Drama.

_'...'_ Marvolo Speaking to Harry in English

_§...§_ [Denotes the use of Parseltongue]

"..." Dialog

I think I'll leave these here for now, it'll evolve as the story goes on. Please do not read if any of the tags upset you. I have already placed the warning before, thus you are reading at your own risk.

Other than that; please enjoy:

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_**Prologue: To You, Polaris **_

Black. Cold. Ice. Fevered Darkness. Sensation was seemingly impossible when shrouded in the existence of a Horcrux. Completely encompassing the shard of Tom Marvolo Riddle's soul captured at the youthful age of twenty-seven; time had long since ceased moving. _He_ was always drifting listlessly in a void of nothingness, a semi-conscious state precariously balanced on the edge of sensationless thought.

How long had he been here? How many nights, months, _years _had he spent curled contentedly within the bejewelled vessel anchoring his soul? How many _decades _had it been since a single placating touch had whispered sweetly across his flesh?

The shard could not remember.

No. It was _useless_ to remember.

A Horcrux did not feel, taste or think for itself. It was merely a stopper in death…a bridge to immortality.

Alas, every so often, _he _would stir. Grimacing in distaste at the greedy little fingertips that soiled his vessel's pristine surface, intense blue sapphires glinted ominously black in the light of several flickering torches. The highly polished silver, imbued with coils of dark magic; shimmered wickedly enough to enrapture curious little minds all too eager to part with portions of their magic.

They never lingered long enough to rouse him, always, _always_, retreating fearfully from the overwhelming touch of his twisted soul…

Until now.

He felt it at first, as if time suddenly jolted back into being. Small, soft fingers were trailing curious patterns over coiled silver. A heady, _burning_, awareness flowing ceaselessly in the wake of the tentative caress as it resonated deeply within the construct of his soul.

It was short but _blindingly_ intense. A few milliseconds of mutually aligning minds, dark magic and innocent intent. Spiralling their existence together in the parody of a kiss, a steady but live heartbeat was set aflutter in tandem to the diadem's own racing pulse. Allowing for the slumbering entity to slowly uncurl itself from the restrictive confines of its vessel, a freezing whisper of white frost soon flowed in an ocean across the stone floor.

Experiencing an oddly freeing sensation, the Horcrux unconsciously drew its strength from the diadem's core, twisting his mind into full wakefulness and blindly reaching out to the one rousing him from decades of delirious sleep. It was both gentle, cold and jarringly painful. Yet, at the same time, it was warm and blissfully welcome.

Effortlessly slicing through years and _years_ of immense self-control and dark loneliness, the sweet experience seemed to forge an unbreakable kinship.

_§Yesssss….ssssweet….sssssoul…..curioussss….little….ssssssoul….§ _The shard cooed quietly, his newly awakened consciousness shuddering in delight at the insatiable yearning stirred within. He wanted to _claim _this child, to_ possess_ it, make it _his_. He _wanted_ it. No, _needed_ it. He coveted this soothing gentleness… To break it… Mould it… Love it… Shatter it… To twine it and watch as they spiralled together in a blasphemous dance where no one could tell where one began and the other ended.

_Yessss_, this soul; _his _little soul that was so much younger in innocence than any first-year, pressing against him with cloying need.

He could tell the child was barely over eleven, perhaps his innocence made him even younger than that. He was untouched by humanity's darkness and greed, not a single indication of selfish hedonism children often displayed. Yet, deep down, the boy vibrated with a magnificent hatred for the world. There was a desperate need to belong _so_ dark and fierce that bitter sorrow already curled a possessive claw into a tiny black heart.

It was like looking into a mirror of Tom Marvolo Riddle's soul at age six, a perfect duplicate of the vulnerable helplessness that had nearly broken him in the orphanage. It echoed with the self-same desperation that gave rise to his inherent sadism, the will that prompted him to rise from the ash of ruination as the vengeful snake he was today.

Even now, his very existence sought to remorselessly poison those daring enough to feast on the carcass of his dereliction.

_§So precioussss…§ _He crooned_; _allowing bloodied, crimson eyes, to flutter open for the first time in forty-some years. Materialising in the form of a full-colour spectre on a bed of snowy white frost, the Room of Hidden Things darkened instinctively at his presence as he stood at an imposing hundred-and-ninety-eight-centimetres behind an impossibly tiny child.

The boy looked no more than seven, even with robes denoting him as an undeniable first year. Yet, never once did he seem to shy away from the spectre's dark presence behind him. He seemed utterly entranced by the shimmering diadem captive in his hands, almost as if he himself just discovered the secrets of the world.

Silently, soothingly, the twin shards _felt_ it. It was a touching of two complimentary personalities, a Polaris of intimacies and open acceptance.

The boy smiled joyously for the first time in eleven years.

With hair as black as midnight, impish curls fell haphazardly across a pale, lightning marred, forehead as stray strands feathered playfully across rounded cheeks. Stubbornly yet insistently defying the laws of gravity, the dark locks carefully framed round rimmed spectacles and shielded the child's vulnerability from the world.

His gaze blanked soon after.

_§Beautiful…§ _Tom Riddle hissed appreciatively, eagerly tasting the hint of despair that lingered on his tongue. He could tell the boy suffered, probably viciously at the hands of those meant to protect him. It was truly idiotic, he mused. How could anyone not see the glimmering gem before them?

_No matter_, a sly smirk curling the corner of pale lips as it ignited insatiable avarice within crimson orbs.

_§Sssuch a rarity, sssweet child. Where did you come from?§_ The words slipped from his lips in an awed prayer. He was not expecting his question to be answered. As the only one capable of understanding parseltongue, it was akin to talking aloud.

He still hoped the unknown tongue would coax the little one to face him.

_§I-I'm sssory, I —.§ _Frozen in absolute surprise when a small hundred-and-thirty-three centimetre frame whirled around to stare at him in awe, a hiss of pure delight rolled eagerly between pale lips as glowing Avada Kedavra green eyes locked curiously with crimson red.

They were utterly _breathtaking_, a perfect match to his favourite curse.

_§I didn't mean to disssturb you, sssir.__§ _The dark entity nearly stumbled in shock when breathy parseltongue drifted between lush, petal, pink lips.

§_I-I jusssst wanted to find a place to hide. And…a-a-and then I found thisss pretty crown. I—.§ _

_§Diadem, child.§_ He corrected automatically. Gracefully falling to his knee in front of his new found treasure; long, spidery, fingertips reached out to brush across a sweetly flushed cheek. He was gazing deeply into the depths of green eyes, swiftly analysing and cataloguing the multitude of emotions reflected there.

He could not help but smile at the inherent warmth swiftly speeding towards him.

The shard of the Dark Lord did not_ care_ if he was carving icy fear into the child's heated core, or startling him with such a cold touch. In fact, he revelled in the slight shiver he coaxed. He had found _exactly_ what he had been looking for, a companion.

_§Husssh, young one. I ssshall never harm you.§ _He vowed.

Waiting patiently for several distressed breaths to ease under his caress, the fissured existence briefly pondered the beauty of the complex puzzle before him. He was not the main soul, merely a piece of the whole, yet he had stirred to life so vividly that his consciousness was clear.  
Just what power did the little one possess?

_§Tell me your name, little one.§ _He demanded.

_§H-H-Ha-Harry Potter, Sssir.§ _The nervous stutter was not missed, an amused glint of teeth glimmering beneath the transparency of his form as he ignored the snowy surface he stood upon. It wasn't cold, yet he knew his presence must be somewhat unsettling for a first year. Elegantly folding long legs beneath him to lower his imposing height, the frozen twenty-eight-year-old beckoned the child to join him by his side.

_§Hello, Harry Potter. You may call me Marvolo.__§_

_§__Tell me, how did you end up in the Room of Hidden Things?§ _Just like that, Harry seated himself on a surprisingly soft surface as he unconsciously leaned into a warm familiarity. Absently curling billowing sleeves around knobby knees, he smiled shyly. He was not afraid of the ghost-like entity, not in a school of witchcraft and wizardry.

It was warm, dark and safe by his side…almost as if the older wizard would protect him.

Shivering softly as he was forced to tell of the furious and cruel chase his housemates had led him on, curious green eyes lingered interestedly on several towering pillars that littered the cathedral-like room around them.

Small, first year, fingers were trailing absently over the ancient headdress Marvolo called a diadem. His attention completely captivated by the soft, gentle pulses that still flickered periodically beneath his fingertips.

Completely unaware of the shivers his unintentional touches provoked from his companion, vivid crimson eyes stared intently at the small form sitting so openly beside him. The very air seemed to roil with rising electricity, a dark and heady protective magic surging forth from within the Horcrux as it shamelessly reached out to claim the sweet innocence coiled so sinfully around him.

There was a brief but notable warmth skittering across the child's skin, whispering of an ancient binding ritual strong enough to suffocate any and all protests from light-oriented objects. Marvolo already decided Harry Potter was _his_, he absolutely refused to give him up.

He had many other plans for this construct of stardust and black angel wings.

A sinister smile bloomed openly across hauntingly beautiful features; prompting long, spidery fingers to card tenderly through temptingly soft, messy, black curls.

This little treasure would be no one but _his_.

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Thanks so much for the read, my darlings. I'll be back soon with Chapter 1 and 2. The editing won't take too long. Hopefully. I'm terribly exited to have this story on the go again, it's been so long since I've sunk into the Harry Potter fandom with my favourite pairings.

Please leave me a little review for my hard work, I really appreciate it. :)

Yours Always

Chocolate Carnival


	2. His Darling Little Serpent

Even though it's a short chapter, I do hope my Honeys enjoy the mind of little Harry. :) I had a lot of fun playing with it.

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_**His Darling Little Serpent**_

Harry James Potter was a Slytherin.

He always knew he was different, even in the wild and eccentric wizarding world he only recently learned to transverse. There was something fundamentally wrong with his psychological makeup. No matter how many times he had been dragged off to church by his relatives to cleanse his 'soul', preached to by vile, disgusting, priests that he was looming on the precipice of hell; he felt no need to be 'normal'.

Whether it was because he yearned to have someone understand the truth of him or because he was a demon in the flesh of a child, fate had long since abandoned his purpose. No form of child-like wonder or joy ever changed his heart, not even the smiles or laughter of his peers. No, the young boy had long since grown twisted and crippled in a house of systematic abuse and dark, damp, cupboards.

No one ever instilled an understanding of human psychology, empathy or sympathy in his heart. Nor how to emulate humanity's core emotions. With the Dursley's hellbent on stamping out any magic he possessed at the age of three, they unwittingly cultivated an emotionally apathetic child that took great pleasure in tearing the wings off butterflies and mounting them on the wall of his cupboard.

Not to mention, gleefully tormenting his spoiled pig of a cousin with vivid night terrors whenever he _breathed_ in his direction. After all, the many years of suffering he experienced at their hands was utterly unforgivable. He had no need to hold back his hatred for them.

It was during the long, tedious, hours spent inside his tiny prison that he first come to know the soothing warmth of magic thrumming beneath his skin. The lulling sensation his only escape from reality. No one was to know he could actively mould it to his will, cause pain in those unfortunate enough to incite his wrath or conjure violent poltergeists to do his bidding.

He could still remember his aunt's hysterical screams the morning his 'friend' tried to drown her in the bathtub.

Since then, his uncle was too terrified to approach his cupboard. It was like _they_ knew they'd pushed too far, instinctively waking a monster no one had the hopes of controlling. After all, what _right_ did they have to punish Harryfor accepting his birth right? For keeping his letters from him and refusing his attendance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?

No, Harry showed them, several times, he would not be the obedient little slave they expect him to be. They _deserved _to be terrified, deserved to be punished and _know_ the yawning abyss of his hatred. Those disgusting muggles had concealed his rightful heritage from him and dared to break his spirit, a fact that made him swear to exact his payment a thousand-fold.

Even at Hogwarts, Harry was different. He was as cold as ice and detached. No else had the ability to control their magic without a wand or understand his emotionless reaction when the topic of his dead parents came up. Whether it was in callous taunts, deliberate provocations or sympathetic discussion — none affected him.

Was it so strange that he felt no attachment to people he never met?

Perhaps there was a small twinge of curiosity blooming in his black little heart, just a tiny wonder, at what it would have been like to grow up in a 'normal' wizarding family. Yet, beyond that, Harry knew he struggled to feel 'emotions' he was supposed to feel.

When the sorting hat told him quite conspiratorially: _'You have a curious and extraordinary mind, Mr Potter. Even for those desperate to influence the power you will one day, no-doubt, wield; you have the capacity to stand by your own ideals without compromise.' _

'_I can already tell you will walk a path to greatness. There was another, just one other, like you; sorted beneath my brim decades ago. He too was a complex child with a different view on the world. Don't let mere rumour and prejudice discourage your skill.' _

'_Best be — _SLYTHERIN.'

That day the last Potter learnt Slytherins were the harbingers of evil. They were seen as snakes in the grass, a threat to peace and humanity. Yet, why he was ostracized by self-righteous pricks in Gryffindor? Instinctively feared by cowering Hufflepuffs? Even snubbed by the intellectually superior Raveclaws?

Harry didn't possess the emotional capacity to learn.

If this was supposed to be a school of magic, a place where learning and discovery took priority, did it really stand to reason that reality was black and white? For the eleven-year-old there was no such thing as good and evil, they were subjective to an ideal or individual.

Then for what purpose did his housemates have an _incessant_ need for group mentality? Why act like shameless cockroaches swarming after the ashes of a burnt corpse? Even Salazar Slytherin's supposedly noble intellect and high ambition barely inspired them to change their ridiculous behaviour.

Marvolo was right, the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin was too preoccupied with an event that took place over a decade ago. What did it matter if he had vanquished the Dark Lord or the state of his clothes and averted eyes? He didn't even possess memories of so long ago, nor the will to conform to their ideal.

Harry was far more interested in the magic it took kill an individual with a single spell. How exactly did it work? Did it hurt the person on the receiving end or was it quick and painless? And the one casting it, was the rush of euphoria a by-product or an individual reaction?

"People are too complicated," Harry complained quietly, movements stuttered and ungraceful as he stood in the shadows of the Hidden Room. The last few hours in the company of Marvolo taught him far more than two months inside school. The older man meant a great deal to him in a surprisingly short amount of time, especially since the little one never took the initiative to trust before.

It was like the spectre _understood_ Harry, just _Harry._ Not the person the world wanted him to be or the image he was expected to project. Just the small, vindictive, child that liked pulling the wings off butterflies and watching them squirm. The curious and insatiable mind that drank in anything and everything it could get its hands on before sating a curiosity about curses and jinxes far too advanced for his current logic.

With the coming and going of several hours, there was no doubt the Halloween Feast was approaching its end. Their time had long since run out.

The increasingly agitated first year didn't want to leave his new friend behind however, not after the unbreakable bond they managed to forge. So, when he told Marvolo he didn't want to go just yet; the red eyed wizard merely smiled at him before pointing to a beautiful onyx jewellery box settled on a three-legged marble table.

'_Pick it up, Harry.'_ He commanded.

Harry obeyed.

Carved from wood a shade shy of black, the small rectangular box moved and swirled to form a lid shaped of twin serpents. Coiled around the teardrop of a large black opal, the warded lock in the shape of a cobra head, hissed curiously before sprouting fangs and sinking into his flesh.

"Nnn…" Harry instinctively bit back his startled cry, bringing a bloodied thumb to plush lips to soothe the stinging ache.

'_Place the diadem inside.' _Marvolo continued darkly, ruby eyes watching hungrily as the lock retracted to reveal opulent velvet within._ 'This box will act as a shield for my anchor.' _

'_If you always keep me by your side, I'll never leave you.' _With the box heavily warded against thievery and turned partially invisible by enchantment, the shard explained the blood was the only way to enact the binding ritual. Now, only Harry would be able open it.

That was all tiny first-year needed to hear, racing all too excitedly down the halls of castle with his new friend. Clutched protectively against his heaving chest was the rapidly warming and glowing diadem box. There was a special wand clutched protectively in his right hand; vibrant green eyes flicking cautiously to the students and spectres hidden in shadow as torch lit passageways swirled with a damp, green, mist.

The twisted labyrinth beneath the Black Lake was just as imposing and solemn as the first time he entered the Slytherin dorms. The castle was strangely empty for being so close to curfew, even the common room was unnatural subdued as he slipped inside.

The remaining students, none below fourth year, were having another feast inside. Several upper years openly glared at him as he passed, marking his back with searing hate before turning back to continue their disquiet murmurs. They no doubt caught onto the fact he managed to hide himself earlier.

Harry barely lent an ear to the furious whispers echoing behind him, stilling momentarily as he deciphered the story of a troll being found in the first-floor girl's bathroom and three Gryffindors that failed to subdue it.

Professor Snape had taken a lot of points.

How marvellous, Harry thought! He really liked Professor Snape, even if the man clearly didn't care very much for him.

Snickering to himself at Marvolo's chuckle echoing inside his head, cold fingertips curled more securely around the warmth of his friend as he twined his magic with the distinctive darkness humming beneath his skin. With nothing to say to his housemates, he treaded the familiar path to his individual room.

The locked snapped in place with a sharp click, curtains and sheets hastily drawn around him as he closed the emerald hangings around him. The large four-poster bed was a welcome haven beneath him, well-practiced movements setting aside his glasses as he slipping exhaustedly beneath the warm sheets.

The tiny Slytherin didn't even bother to change, merely placing his beloved new jewellery box on the pillow next to him and shutting his eyes.

Being different wasn't so bad, he mused. Not if he managed to find someone like Marvolo just for himself. Small fingers never once strayed far from his new friend. He'd never met someone as interesting as Marvolo, nor had ever felt what it was like to be content in the presence of another.

'Good night, Marvolo.' He whispered shyly, giggling in delight at the strange tickle of magic sliding over his mind. His very bones itched with the sensation, spreading warmly within as he realized he'd never have to be alone again.

'_Sweet dreams, Little Serpent.'_


End file.
